


Triquetra

by Not_You



Series: Watching [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Body Image, Clothed Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Reunion Sex, Scars, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 12:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3729382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil comes home, Clint is persuasive, and Fury gets tactile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triquetra

Phil is pale and weak and Clint feels like he's carrying a new baby or something as he helps him over the threshold. "Careful careful careful..." he hears himself muttering, and Phil lets out a little laugh that turns into a cough and puts Clint on the edge of panic. He scrambles to get Phil into a chair, and then checks his mucous membranes and fingertips for pinkness and warmth while he rolls his eyes.

"Clint, they wouldn't have released me if a cough was going to kill me."

"Shut up," Clint mutters, and kisses his forehead, lingering for a moment before running out to help Fury with the bags. He and Clint each have one of clothing and other stuff for an extended stay with Phil, as well as a binder of discharge instructions, a bunch of medical equipment, and what looks like about half a pharmacy.

All three of them are exhausted for physical and emotional reasons, and it's a good thing that Phil has a huge bed. It would probably be more convenient to put him at the edge by the nightstand, where all his medication is, but they tuck him into the middle. Both of them need to touch him and smell him and to feel his breathing, assuring themselves moment by moment that he's here and safe. Hell, Nick is _wearing less clothing than a nun._ He's in a long-sleeved t-shirt and pajama bottoms, sure, but still. There are horrible marks on his neck, almost like miniature tire tracks. Clint wants to kiss them, to feel if they're sleek or rough or bumpy, but of course he doesn't even look at them, with all Nick's damage. Besides, both of them are busy clinging to Phil, who keeps kissing them each in turn, looking helpless and a little guilty in the face of their pathetic need for him.

"It's okay," Phil says again and again, and Clint can't keep back a little whimper. He's hard but he's not sure what Phil is cleared for or what he wants or what he's even physically capable of with all his medications. "That's okay, too," Phil says, with a meaningful press of one thigh that makes Clint whimper again, much louder.

"What are you cleared for?" Fury asks, pressed against Phil's side, flannel-clad leg warm against Clint's bare one. His voice is a low rumble that makes Clint shiver.

Phil chuckles. "I have to sit back and let you do most of the work, and penetration is a bad idea, but my hands aren't broken and an orgasm won't kill me."

"Okay," Fury says, kissing Phil long and slow and making Clint ache, unsure which of them he wants to taste more. "Can I call the shots?"

"Yeah," Phil murmurs, kissing him again before turning his head to kiss Clint, who moans quietly and sucks his tongue into his mouth, whining softly through his nose as Phil fucks his mouth. When Phil had first woken up Clint and Fury had given him roughly the amount of kisses received by the Blarney Stone in one year, but those had been soft and desperate, much more about affection than lust. Now Clint moans and ruts against Phil's hip, feeling like a teenager with all the drool and the utter lack of finesse, and he's laughing softly at his own lameness when Phil pulls away and wipes their mouths with a corner of the sheet.

"You're gross, Coulson," Fury mutters, and Phil snickers. "But I forgive you," Fury coos, kissing him again. He looks up at Clint, good eye gleaming. "Barton, get down and suck him off."

"Yes, sir!" Clint chirps, and scrambles to obey. Phil is wearing pajama pants of his own, now lightly streaked with Clint's precome. He pulls them down slowly, as gentle as possible with Phil, completely buried under the covers to keep him warm. Clint kisses each inch of skin as he reveals it, making little noises in his throat that he kind of hopes the others can't hear. He feels Fury shift, and can hear the soft sounds of him kissing Phil again.

At last Clint has Phil naked (aside from the undershirt he's wearing for warmth and to protect his bandages) and can affectionately nuzzle his cock. Old and wounded, Phil is slow to get hard, but they've already got him most of the way there, and he moans when Clint sighs hot air around the head.

"I"m getting you another blanket, Phil," Nick says, "I wanna be able to watch."

"You take s-such g-good c-c-care of me.. oh..." Clint hums, taking him deeper. "God, Clint..." Phil pets him with one trembling hand and Clint sighs. And then flinches when Fury pulls the covers back. He glances up and Fury grins at him.

"Just a second." Being a closeted lover of comfort, Fury has a lot of small, fleecy blankets. He drapes a couple over Phil, and another over Clint's back, so now they're both warm _and_ he can see properly. Perfect. Clint pulls off to grin at him, and Fury smirks, settling beside Phil and putting his bare hand on the back of Clint's head. "Get back to work, boy."

Clint snickers and obeys, amusement fading as he realizes that Fury has taken control, moving his mouth on Phil's cock. He moans and opens his eyes again, locking his gaze with Phil's as Fury pushes him down and pulls him back in long, hard strokes. 

Phil moans, and turns away to kiss Fury again. "God, Nick," he whispers, and Clint shudders. This is fucking good, but it could be even better, and he exerts the strength it takes to pull back enough to make Fury realize to let go. "Yes, sweetheart?" Phil says softly, and Clint sighs, kissing his belly and feeling more than a little swoony and ridiculous. 

After a moment, he raises his head to speak. "Hey, Fury?"

"Yes, Barton?" He kisses Phil's cheek, his eyes on Clint.

"You've gotta be so fucking hard by now, sir, and I bet it's starting to hurt."

He smiles "And you aren't?"

Clint shrugs. "I"m humping the mattress, it's pretty great."

Fury makes a little near-silent, feline snort of amusement. "And?"

"And I know I don't get to look at you or touch your cock, but what if your cock was touching me?"

"Semantics, Barton."

"No, seriously!" He props up on his elbows a little. "If you rub off on my back, I don't get to do anything to you, but you get to touch me. You know you want to, sir. I'm all hard and smooth and warm..." Fury actually shivers a little, and Clint grins. "Come on, it'll be nice. And neither of us will be able to see much, and you can kiss Phil and come all over me. It's basically perfect."

"Please, Nick," Phil says softly. "I want to see it."

It's totally not fair for Phil to ask for anything right now, since both of them are fully prepared to give him the moon and a bushel basket of stars, obliterating anything that gets in their way. Fury kisses him again and then pushes Clint back down. "Back to work."

Clint's mouth is too full to say anything, but he makes an affirmative noise and starts really sucking Phil again as Fury shifts to straddle him from behind, getting his thighs settled outside of Phil's legs and slowly getting his waistband hooked under his balls. Clint can feel the scars when Fury makes contact, but they're sleek and feel just as good as the impossibly soft skin around them. His back has always been sensitive, and now Fury is grinding along him, soft and heavy and grunting softly, his hips driving in a way that makes Clint moan helplessly around Phil's cock because oh god, being fucked by Fury would be amazing. He's relentless and smooth, luxuriating in Clint's skin and groaning into Phil's mouth when he leans forward to kiss him. Clint loves the feeling of being caught between them and used for their pleasure almost as much as he loves the feeling of three of them together again, Phil here and whole and safe. He whimpers and redoubles his efforts, and then lets out a muffled cry as Fury groans in a broken, surprised kind of way and comes all over him, all hot and slick.

"Oh, fuck," Phil whimpers, and follows a moment later. Clint swallows every drop and slides up into Phil's arms as Fury tips to the far side of him, panting. A few sloppy kisses and about three and a half hard strokes from one of Phil's skilled hands and Clint is finally coming, making a high and embarrassing noise that he really can't even begin to give a shit about.

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess the true overarching 'plot' of this thing is getting Fury to let people touch him. Suggestions? Hot scene ideas for any point in the process? If so, please share. <3


End file.
